Dangerous Questions
by DominaWritesThings
Summary: The world is falling down around the broad shoulders of Hissrad, known as the Iron Bull to the long-disbanded Inquisition. As a brutal war between the Qunari and the Tevinter Imperium draws to a bloody close, he has a final encounter with a familiar face - one that will haunt him for the rest of his days.
1. Chapter 1

As Hissrad entered the world covered in blood, so he prepared each day to depart it.

It was a certainty that he had always prepared for, a cold and unyielding fact that had greeted him with the sunrise. It had not bothered him; he was but one piece of a greater purpose, one small ripple in the ocean of existence. Death was one of the many necessities of order. His would be one of many required to achieve the stability that the Qun promised, and so he did not mind. _Asit tal-eb._

Hissrad's arms resisted the strain of his bindings as he prepared for the day. Grunting softly, he wrapped them around his torso. His hands moved from memory; as they dutifully tied symbolic knots with the cords of his station, he allowed his mind to wander. Counter-intuitive to most Qunari, Hissrad found daydreaming to be an efficient method of mulling over information taken in passively. This was not to say that he never paid rapt attention to the world around him - had this been so, he might never have ceased being _hissrad_ \- but he embraced the machinations of his mind. It enabled him to explore concepts beneficial to his people where others could not. His superiors had not always considered this trait an asset.

But much had changed since the Veil came down.

During their investigation of the _Vir Dirthara_ , the Viddasala's operatives had learned that among the ancient elves, spells could take years to cast and end. Of course, none of them were able to give further details: Hissrad learned later that all had met Fen'Harel, but none survived him. When the steady flow of reports became weeks of complete silence, the Viddasala and her team were declared dead. Scouts attempting to re-enter the Crossroads found the ways heavily guarded by the elven mage's people.

The Viddasala's replacement, tasked with learning more about Fen'Harel's burgeoning movement, had returned to Par Vollen alone. No one knew how, since she was not seen near raft nor ship, and her frayed armor was dry. She kept muttering about a six-eyed wolf, expressed an irrational fear of shadows, and unleashed blood-curdling screams in her sleep. After the Ben-Hassrath finished studying her, not even a second round of _qamek_ could calm her; she spent her last days in the temple rocking on the floor, begging for her mouth to be sewn shut. Hissrad had executed her himself, shortly after he was named _Rasaan_. During his time with the Inquisition, the quiet gratitude in the Viddasala's dimming eyes would have unsettled him; at this stage of his life, he pitied her. How torturous, to live twisted beyond one's purpose.

A sharp rapping sound came from the other side of his door, interrupting his thoughts. The walk to the edge of his quarters seemed to take an eternity, but he refused to drag his feet. Cool steel greeted his hand as he turned the handle.

A tall woman with tumbling silver locks stood before him, arms crossed firmly behind her back. Calm, calculating eyes glittered in the morning light as she regarded him.

"Rasaan."

The woman before him nodded curtly. Rasaan was not one for formalities now, deeming them inefficient. In days past, her tongue had been covered in honey, especially when dealing with _bas_. As the war raged on, the honey dripped slowly away. Only a sharpened razor remained.

"It appears you are not ready for the meeting with the others."

"Indeed, Rasaan." His hands fell to his side, burning slightly from working with the cords. "Time is the price of looking this good, at my age."

"Time better spent on morning exercises to warm up your joints, old man," she sniffed in Common Tongue, striding past him into his quarters. A slight smile played about Hissrad's lips as he closed the door behind her. Not a single member of the _Salasari_ would have been able to take the liberties that she did. But he had not chosen her to be at his side because of her charm, and he valued her opinions regardless of how she delivered them.

Hissrad resumed dressing, drifting over to his armor stand. "I take it you're not here to admire the view," he snorted, lifting a heavy silverite paudron from its perch. Since the war began, he had broken decorum by donning armor instead of robes. None protested, considering the circumstances surrounding the death of his predecessor. Wearing heavy armor seemed like home, besides.

Rasaan's eyes sharply assessed an ornate wooden stool before she lowered herself gracefully into its seat. "You would assume such," she said, adjusting herself. "I was actually here to see if you were still alive. The Arishok is dead."

Hissrad couldn't tell if it was the weight of the paudrons or the news that made his shoulders slump. "Fucking Dreamers," he hissed in Common Tongue, turning to face her. Rasaan nodded, crossing her arms.

"He knew the risks of sleeping without wards. I recall him recently crowing that he would slay the Archon himself, if he dared to show up in his dreams."

" _The Archon_ comes from a line of Tevinter magisters who have far more experience with the Fade than us. Every _Arishok_ since Kirkwall has made the fatal mistake of being prideful in a time of crisis." He stepped towards the table near his armor stand, reaching for a tall jar of _vitaar_. Rasaan clicked her tongue, rising to take it from his hands.

"You can't reach all the way back, remember? I will apply it." Hissrad attempted to stifle a shudder as the ice-cold substance touched his skin. "His replacement is young, inexperienced," Rasaan continued, applying the vitaar in sharp strokes. "The Tamassrans swear that this one comes from different stock than the rest. I suppose we'll see."

"We cannot afford anything less, Rasaan," he replied. A slight throb began to pulse at his temples. Despite the state of the world and the challenges it brought, the Qunari had to remain resolute.

Although, if he was to be honest, the rest of Thedas fared far better than Qunandar, having already underwent their trials by fire. Prior to the war, Southern nations appeared to be in no better condition than the broken _Viddasala_. The Qunari learned - much too late - that Fen'Harel had begun to undo the Veil shortly after seizing the Eluvians for himself. The effects began to magnify as the years passed: streams of information turned into rivers, with reports threatening to flood his desk. A full-blown war between mage factions had erupted while demons ravaged the land. One of the holds in the Free Marches had collapsed onto itself after a series of devastating earthquakes. And - perhaps more intriguing than the uptick in conflicts among the other _basra_ \- the Qunari's dwarven contacts had begun to disappear, abandoning their posts for reasons unknown. Except for dwarves born on the surface, there were hardly any left above-ground.

The Ben-Hassrath also determined that, despite Tamassran efforts, more and more children were becoming _saarebas_ , with magic manifesting in them at earlier ages. A child of five had severely burned other children in her cohort, hands suddenly aflame during play. The Tamassrans quickly started proofing children's quarters against elemental damage, although that did not hinder the possessions. After months of heated debate amongst the _Salasari_ , it was decided that the mages were to be used in large numbers against Tevinter. The move would cull their _saarebas_ population and inflict a greater range of damage to the Imperium's infrastructure.

What happened after would be one of longest streams of horrors that Hissrad had ever witnessed.

As Rasaan silently painted the _vitaar_ onto his back, he reflected upon what would become the Qunari's most grave miscalculation in the campaign against the Tevinter Imperium. By their count, the bombings of Minrathous, Teraevyn and Marnas Pell had been successful; their utter decimation of the Imperial Highway had interrupted the coordinated flow of supplies, including the lyrium that their mages so needed. But the Archon had responded by sending a company of animated Qunari corpses right up to the shores of Par Vollen, each holding a bloodied, severed head in a box. The corpses were felled by neither magic nor cannon. For thirty days they stood, rotting and blotting out the coastline, before lurching forward to explode on the hot summer sand. So began the true Qunari-Tevinter War.

The Arishok of that time had been a level-headed man, and familiar with Southerner ways. Subordinates whispered that it was his experience traveling with the King of Ferelden that made him soft, but no one dared to utter this within earshot of the _Salasari_. This changed after the Battle of One Thousand Flowers, in which the Imperium used giant carnivorous flowers in the Seheron jungles - devouring both the young _beresaad_ soldiers and refugees fleeing the skirmishes. In a brash move, the Arishok revoked the honorary title of _Basalit-an_ from all living mages who held it. The iron bench of the Arishok had been cold and hard ever since - chilling whoever sat upon it.

As Rasaan finished painting, unbidden came the images of the war: Tevinter mages opening up the earth to swallow their soldiers; charred and dismembered bodies strewn across silent fields; _saarebasra_ ripping their stitches as they screamed. As the Imperium brought out their strongest mages to crush Qunari lines, none of the Qunari soldiers could be treated for _asala-taar_ , however much the sickness plagued their ranks. They could not be spared. Hissrad wondered if pushing the soul-sick into battle to die was an act of mercy.

"You are tense." Rasaan slipped the _vitaar_ brush into the jar, closing it tightly. "But we must push forward with our plans. The city is all we have now. I would not gamble with it."

"You're right. As always," Hissrad sighed. He flexed his arms; the blackened _vitaar_ was painted as a serpent on each one, and wrapped wrapped around him from bicep to wrist. He was unsure why he'd adopted that style. It no longer mattered.

Hissrad turned towards the door. "Let's go," he said. "We have a war to finish."


	2. Chapter 2

Sunlight filtered through the glass windows as the Ariqun and the Rasaan walked down the hallway. His quarters - as well as that of the Arigena - had been moved closer to the temple. When the Imperium annexed Seheron and asserted dominion over the lesser islands of Par Vollen, the _Salasari_ moved to the center of Qunandar out of necessity. Qunari lands crumbled away and into the hands of Tevinter, with limited chance of regaining them. They had yet to determine how to penetrate the Tevinter wards, which were far more complex than the rudimentary nugscratch the Qunari used. With the Veil gone, the _basra_ had become more dangerous than before.

The temple itself was eerily quiet, and their footsteps echoed as they crossed the marble floor. Hooded priests ghosted by, murmuring " _ataas shokra_ " as they passed. Hissrad flicked his eye up at domed ceiling, admiring its perfect dimensions. Stylized Qunlat was inlaid in iron all around the rim, while iron geometric shapes mimicked the evening sky. Beauty could be found as easily as order in Qunari creations; he pitied the _basra_ for shielding their eyes and refusing to see.

"Pity upon you, child of dragons," a voice whispered in Common Tongue.

Hissrad jerked his head down. They had reached the corridor leading to the _Salasari's_ war room, but no one was standing in front of him. A statue of a male Tevinter mage holding a staff - properly scaled to actual human height, he noticed - had been placed near the corridor opening. Its features were worn down until smooth, as if it had changed many hands throughout its seemingly-long life.

"Pity upon you, child of dragons," it repeated, lips unmoving.

"What is this thing?" Hissrad snapped, wrapping his fingers around the hilt of his weapon. "And where is the blasted _iskaari_?"

"I am here, _Ariqun_." A young elven man in heavy armor rushed up to him, stopping to catch his breath. Like many of those who remained in the Qun, he seemed young. "I am sorry that you were exposed to it," the _iskaari_ said between gasps. "We were about to move it into the _darvaarad_ for study."

The magical statue raised his hackles - had war not granted him wisdom regarding studying magic, he would have hacked it to pieces. Something about its knowing gaze raised the hairs on the back of his neck, and made him nervous. Whatever it was, it felt _wrong_.

"What does it do?" he asked in Qunlat, eyeing it warily.

"We're still determining that. It's been talking to us, although most of what it says seems like rubbish. Pay it no mind."

But somehow, it _knew_ Hissrad. "Child of dragons" certainly meant that it recognized him as a reaver, and curiosity agitated his tongue. "Why do you pity me?" The words were pulled out of Hissrad's mouth before he could swallow them back down. Rasaan looked at him from the corner of her narrowed eyes.

"Because stone they made me, and stone I am." the statue responded, with a voice like crumbling leather. "But stone I will cease to be, long before you find peace. You will build hearths in every corner of the world, but none shall warm you."

Hissrad shook his head, chasing away his nerves with a chuckle. He had grown more cautious as he got older, although it had nearly gotten the best of him. Fear was folly in a time of war. "Do you hear that?" he smiled suddenly, turning to Rasaan. "The thing speaks like a Rivaini seer. Even the Tevinter statue says that our victory is certain. Let's move on." The _iskaari_ saluted him before preparing to haul the statue away. "Record everything it says," Hissrad called behind him. "I want to see what else it claims will come to pass."

"Yes, Ariqun."

When they were alone in the corridor, Rasaan spoke. "That voice sounded female. It may be a desire demon, trapped beneath the stone," Rasaan warned. "You know better than to take their words as anything more than a lure."

"Perhaps. But demons have no concept of time, and can see things far ahead of us. And besides," he added, pushing the door to the war room open, "if it wanted to possess one of us, it wouldn't draw us in with fortunetelling."

Rasaan grunted her disapproval, but he ignored it. Cold air greeted him as he walked into the war room. The Arigena, a short-haired, sharp-eyed woman, sat with her associates at the far end of a large serpentstone table. She looked up as she dragged her fingers idly along the House of Tides sigil carved into the surface. Although her mouth was taut, she raised her hand amicably in greeting.

The Ariqun's replacement - a bearded young man with eager eyes, and ornately-capped horns - was seated near the door. He rose quickly, nearly knocking over his bench in the effort.

" _Ataas shokra_ , Ariqun," he saluted Hissrad proudly, puffing his chest. Rasaan rolled her eyes, barely suppressing her contempt.

"At ease. We are equals now." Looking past the young man, Hissrad saw what remained of the Ben-Hassrath at the other far end of the table - traditionally the Arishok's position, as at least one watchful _kathaban_ preferred to keep an eye on the door - but said nothing. He nodded to the new Viddasala before he and Rasaan lowered themselves into their seats.

The _Salasari_ scribe, an older woman with a face like carved stone, cleared her throat before picking up her writing utensil. "With all members present, we will commence the three-thousand, three-hundred and ninety-second meeting of the _Salasari_ , two hours towards midday of the thirtieth day of the Harvest, in the three-hundred and thirty-first year of the Age of - "

"Enough," the Arigena cut in. "The grains of the hourglass slip by."

The scribe nodded curtly and pursed her lips, scribbling furiously on her parchment. Years of Ben-Hassrath training told him that she was holding back a scowl. "Very well."

"The Imperium compromised one of the aqueducts," the Arigena continued, sifting through her papers. "And our water supply is beginning to dwindle. We have forty-nine days until we run out of clean water."

"How long until we can get it repaired?" Hissrad asked.

"We are uncertain. Our last master architect fell to possession last night, and had to be dispatched."

Hissrad let out a long hiss. The throbbing returned to his temples, more insistent now. "And his apprentice?"

"Only five months into the role. He has learned much, but he is not nearly as efficient." The Arigena regarded the new Arishok with a piercing stare. "I need a company of your men to guard him while he works on the repairs."

"That cannot be done." the Arishok drew himself up. "The Imperium is pressing further and further inland. They could ambush Qunandar at any moment, and my men must stand rea-"

A shout rang out from the corridor. Time seemed to slow down to Hissrad as everyone in the room leapt up. The sound of swords clashing was loud and clear, and the Arishok's men drew their weapons. A _kathaban_ threw the door open with a roar; Hissrad could see the _iskaari_ from earlier, creating mirror images of himself as he surrounded a _saarebas_.

Without warning a thin, bright green line parted the air above the table, growing longer while chaos ensued. Hissrad swore; dread claimed him as he realized that they were about to be kettled in.

He turned to the Arigena, rigid and unmoving where she stood. "Get back! Now!" he shouted hoarsely, shoving her back from the table. Rasaan began to bark orders to the Ben-Hassrath, but it was too late.

The green line pulled itself apart, forming a portal; a robed arm shot through. With a flick of its wrist, everyone in the room began to freeze, suspended in time. His blood pulsed like a war drum as his body prepared for combat, but was unable to move.

A torso, then the rest of the body, followed the arm out of the portal. A bronze-skinned man stepped casually through, boots clicking as they fell onto the table. Although his back was turned, Hissrad recognized the ornate robe patterns reserved for an Archon, although the mage carried no staff. The back of his head showed wide streaks of silver hair, mixed with black.

The false _iskaari_ returned, hands smeared heavily with blood. He shot Hissrad an angry glare, burning with hatred, before looking up to the man on the table. "Leave us," the mage commanded with a familiar voice. With a nod, the turncoat pulled the door of the war room shut.

The mage turned slowly on his heels to face him, and brought his arms behind his back. Recognition began to dawn upon Hissrad as he met the man's cold, unyielding grey eyes.

"Hello, Hissrad," Archon Dorian said.


	3. Chapter 3

With an elegant wave of his hand, Archon Dorian Pavus released Hissrad from the spell, only to lock him into place. The Qunari shivered as magic rippled across him, stilling his body from the neck down. He strained to see a frozen Rasaan, who had been about to rush towards him, on one side. _You weren't supposed to protect_ me, Hissrad groaned internally. He turned his head away with a sigh.

Hissrad looked at the Archon and found nothing familiar in the hardened line of his mouth, the stillness of his jaw, the gravity in his stance. His was look of a man who had reached far beyond his sadness. However much the burden of his title weighed him down, the years had been kind to him: few wrinkles worried his brow. Nor did the Archon's still-sturdy frame and hale complexion suggest indulgences or debauchery, a sickness that plagued most _basra_ of his age and station. Hissrad realized that though the body remained much the same, the man before him had not.

Hissrad had changed also, though he knew better than to show how much; his "death" by the Inquisitor's hand had been the permanent death of the Iron Bull. It had taken him months to truly ground himself again; whole _years_ passed before his superiors believed that he had truly cleaved the persona from himself. But he would not risk the survival of his people by refusing to utilize its strengths.

 _Besides_ , he thought as he slid into a familiar smile, _it's_ _better to present the enemy with the demons they know_.

"I'm called _Ariqun_ , these days," he said finally. Pavus' face remained still as a placid pond, unmoved.

"Yes, I am aware. But you will _always_ be a _hissrad_ to me."

"Ouch," Hissrad replied. Had his hands been free, it would have been easy to raise them defensively. "I understand. Though it's been a minute since we saw each other, eh?"

"No minute has passed as slowly as the one in which I watched you betray me," Pavus answered coolly.

He sprung from the table, landing gracefully onto the floor. Hissrad felt a tendril of envy: the man's movements were fluid and sure where his own were not. He'd had limited opportunity for combat as he rose through Qunari ranks, and time reserved for training shrank. His arms, spread out to shield the people behind him, began to throb with regret.

 _Old patterns of familiarity die hard,_ Hissrad reminded himself as he watched his captor. Pavus' robes, rich indigo cloth draped over black Tevinter finery, swished softly as he took a languid stroll around the war room. He was certain that the man held a degree of resentment for him: any other mage would have attacked them indiscriminately and spared none. But with some effort, Hissrad could edge the Archon towards vulnerability. The only tool that he needed to break free was his mouth.

"Point well taken," he conceded, after a long pause. "Although the years have treated you well."

"Of course. With the Veil gone, time has moved differently for me."

"And I'd wondered how Solas looked so spry for a four-hundred year-old elf. Tricksy bastard had been hiding a fountain of youth from us all along."

This earned him a scoff. "Among other things related to magic. Your people are disastrously incompetent in that regard, as you well know."

"The rest of Thedas is still shitting in chamber pots and learning about physics," Hissrad smiled. "I'd say we've compensated well."

"Accurate, however crassly put." The mage smirked. He picked up the _Salasari_ scribe's notes, thumbing through them until the immobile Arishok caught his eye.

Pavus turned back to Hissrad after a moment, eyes sparkling like melting ice in the sun. "We gave you the courtesy of killing that feckless Arishok of yours, and _this_ is your notion of an improvement? I thought your sort more well-organized than that, Hissrad." He did not bother to hide his amusement.

 _Perhaps some things really_ don't _change_. "Desperate times call for desperate measures," he replied smoothly. The Iron Bull had used honesty to hide in plain sight; it would be no different here. "And besides, we all need a proving ground, don't we?"

A knowing smile. "Yes. Indeed, we do."

The Archon was stalling for some reason; the Qunari decided to nudge him closer towards revealing his intentions. "Congrats on becoming Archon, by the way," he said, stoking the warmth in his tone. "It seems that you've truly done well for yourself."

The flash in the Archon's eyes lasted only a moment, but did not escape his notice. _Here we go_ , Hissrad thought. One did not become Archon without clawing your way to the top of the Magisterium's brutal political food chain, making Pavus the most dangerous _saarebas_ of all. And worse, he was a _saarebas_ with a grudge.

He maintained his expression as Pavus put down the scribe's notes and sidled around the table's edge. His saunter had become a prowl, now, with steps that sounded like certainty as he drew near. "Couldn't have done it without you, Hissrad," Pavus replied. His voice sounded like daggers hidden beneath silk.

"In truth, I came here for a reason. There are many other things that I could be doing presently. But after I started receiving reports of a one-eyed Ariqun, I decided to attend to the fall of Qunandar personally. But most importantly, I wanted to say...thank you."

 _Interesting._ The former Ben-Hassrath agent raised an eyebrow. "Oh? And why's that?"

Pavus rested his hands beneath his chin, fingers interlocking. "Because, Hissrad, you were an excellent teacher. I learned a great many things from you. In fact," he laughed dryly, "none of this would have been possible without you. None.

"Do you know, Hissrad, that I cried for nights on end after we left you? No matter how many times I said _katoh_ , hoping that the nightmare would end, it wouldn't. Still the sun rose, and I didn't wake next to you. Still, you had betrayed me. And still you were dead, unable to tell me why."

Hissrad frowned with little effort. "We couldn't have been together anyway, not in the long run. Did you think you'd survive the Magisterium once people connected you to a member of the Ben-Hassrath?"

"You could have turned Tal-Vashoth." Pavus' eyes snapped back up to his sharply. "I was there when you sacrificed the Chargers for your beloved Qun. It was clear that the Ben-Hassrath already considered you a spy gone rogue. Making it official would have cost you nothing."

Images of the fallen Chargers floated up to the surface of his awareness. Like the rest of the memories from his life as the Iron Bull, they had remained well-buried. He had watched them die; he memorized each and every one of their faces and manner of death as they succumbed to Venatori forces. After that day, he vowed to make their deaths worthwhile by fully dedicating himself to the Qun.

For the first few months after their deaths, intrusive thoughts of the Chargers would disrupt his focus. Back then, he would recite the Body Canto until they passed. This time around he let them linger, shaping the landscape of his countenance and weighing down his voice.

"I had already sacrificed my men," Hissrad said heavily. "Would you really have expected me to sacrifice everything else I held dear?"

At this, Pavus tilted his head inquisitively. "Hadn't you already?"

And with that, it all came together. One of the first interrogation tactics learned as a member of the Ben-Hassrath was what he had called "The Shovel." You allowed the subject to dig deeper into themselves, encouraging intensive introspection. When the well of their insight had gone dry or when they hit some deep trauma, you offered them the refreshing waters of the Qun. The Shovel had helped him bring swaths of _viddathari_ into the fold after he returned to Qunandar, improving his standing. Pavus would not have been a passable interrogator for the Qunari - not even now, despite his commanding presence - but Hissrad steeled himself nonetheless.

He closed his eye and took a deep breath, using the time to recalculate his approach. He would need to truly exhume the Iron Bull persona, giving Pavus the ghost of closure he apparently needed. Once the man was vulnerable, Hissrad would twist his heartstrings until freed. It would be a challenge - he noted how carefully Pavus watched him as they stood in silence, calmly returning his hands to their place behind his back. Even on the battlefield, Pavus had been one to toy with his prey before crushing them mercilessly.

Hissrad would _not_ play mouse to the Archon's house cat.

 _So long as the music's playing,_ Hissrad thought, _we'll dance._


	4. Chapter 4

And so began their last dance. The Archon's gaze seemed more pointed, piercing into him as the time passed. Hissrad could see the beginnings of a smirk pull at the corner of his lips. But it didn't matter. He was certain that by the end, that smirk would eventually be pulled into a sob. As he filled his lungs with air, Hissrad sank deeper into the role that his people needed him to assume.

 _Anaan esaam Qun._

"You knew I was Ben-Hassrath," Hissrad said, exhaling. Pavus nodded.

"I did."

"How many late nights did we spend debating about the Qun? You were aware of how much it meant to me."

"And I was okay with that. Before I realized that your tolerance for other cultures was merely a ruse."

"But be honest, you knew that just as you had to leave for Tevinter, I'd go back to Par Vollen. Can you really tell me that you didn't?"

Pavus' shoulders shook as he laughed. "Perhaps I did," the Archon answered. "Deep in the back of my mind, I knew that what we had couldn't last. I had such high hopes that you would choose a better life for yourself. But you taught me that when dealing with Qunari, hope is the enemy." Hissrad felt a counter-argument building, but held his tongue as he watched. He could see a rant coming a mile away, and a rant meant vulnerability.

The mage continued. "After the initial heartbreak, I coped by pouring my efforts into building up the Lucerni. Your attacks on the Imperium prompted calls for reform, and I used that to my advantage. Although the loss of life might not have been so compelling if you hadn't destroyed the Imperial Highway," the Archon added. "An excellent touch. Repairs were so slow at first. So slow, even magisters were calling for an examination of the national treasury, to figure out why we lacked the funding to hasten it."

"Because using your slaves stopped being efficient?"

"Because you bombed us shortly after they'd been freed," Pavus snapped. "Although my personal stance on the matter changed drastically after we killed you. Who was I to demand that someone waste their lives the way you did yours? What right could I possibly have?"

"I was no slave."

"Weren't you?" He prodded derisively. "You people treat the Qun like a living, breathing, thing. You live for it. You kill for it. You blindly obey its commands. And when it finally asks you to die for it, you fall on your sword like it was a mattress after a long day."

Hissrad maintained his sense of balance through breathing. _Inhale, exhale_. _This level of misunderstanding is common for_ basra _,_ he told himself. _They have to be guided to see their own shortcomings._ "Is this not like human nationalism?" He carefully removed the edge from his voice. "You fly your banners and sing songs that over-inflate your country's sense of worth. Then you send the many to fight for the holdings and titles of the few. Your peasants act like temporarily embarrassed noblemen, and they die having contributed nothing. When our men die, they die for the greater good."

"Are you counting the Chargers among ' _your men_?'"

 _Inhale_. "They also died for the greater good."

" _Unknowingly_. You robbed them of the freedom to choose, just like you did with the _viddathari_."

 _Exhale._ "They made the choice to fight alongside me, and died bravely. No one can take that away from them."

"No, they died _in vain._ Even Gatt admitted that."

 _What?_

"You didn't know, did you?" Pavus crossed his arms, smiling. Self-satisfaction spread across his face like oil. "Your Gatt left the Qun shortly after Seheron was declared an independent nation. 'The Qunari were wrong,' he said. He'd sought me out personally, having remembered me from the Inquisition. I had him watched at first, but it eventually became clear that he really had seen the light. His spouse and children are, by the way, rather delightful."

He'd held the report of Gatt's death in his own hands, signed by a _tallis_ who'd witnessed it. "You've never been a good liar," Hissrad said, raising his chin slightly. "No point in trying now."

"You were a spy, were you not? Look at me and see the truth. Who do you think found an elf fluent in Qunlat to play that _iskaari_?"

Hissrad revisited the scene with the statue, scanning for signs. _No protective mask_ , he thought bitterly. No true _itskaari_ would dare handle a magical artifact without wearing one, recently-trained or no.

Pavus had begun to relish his silences, so Hissrad gave him more. He took deep breaths while he strained to still his features: all of the background pain that he'd shoved aside had come rushing to the fore, limbs burning and throbbing and aching.

"Go ahead and think about it. Even your loyal followers saw what following the Qun truly meant," Pavus crowed, leaning against the table. "If you have to maim, drug, and scare people into following the Qun, then is it really all it's cracked up to be? Don't you think that if the Qun truly was better than any other society, that you'd have scores of willing converts? When we annexed Qunari lands and signed them over to the Tal-Vashoth, whole towns sprouted out of the ground before the ink was even dry. If the Qun was so perfect, then why was it filled with people begging to become free?"

"Because not all of them truly understood. I don't even expect you to understand the -"

"Yes, I know, 'complexity is wisdom,' is that it? 'There is no chaos in this world, only complexity. Knowledge of the complex is wisdom.' What utter drivel." Pavus' voice rose and fell, cresting on the waves of contempt. "Thus spoke the Askaari Koslun, and for three hundred-odd years not a one of you thought to dig deeper than that. Or you wiped the minds of those that did."

"You wouldn't understand. If you saw half of what I did, you'd understand why I sacrificed so much in service to the Qun."

"Including me," Pavus closed his eyes, tilting back slightly, "Including me.

"Was it worth it? If given the choice, _hissrad_ , would you make that decision again?"

Hissrad exhaled sharply. "Without question."

"Without question, he says!" Pavus laughed, with a warmth that never once reached his eyes. "Of course. How foolish of me to entertain the possibility of you thinking outside of your blind duty to the Qun, even as it burns to the ground.

"Look around you. This is what adherence to the Qun got you, _hissrad_. You have brothers and sisters, but no friends. You have comrades, but no allies. Your Ben-Hassrath? Fell apart. Your Arigena? A coward. Your Arishok? A child. You lost all of your spies and sleeper agents a year ago, your Tamassrans are dying or dead, and your city is falling apart because no one's left to maintain it. And you couldn't even defend it because your army is the size of my fist. Empty houses and crumbling walls. This is what you sacrificed everything for. Was it truly worth it?"

Hissrad noticed the way the mage's mustache twitched slightly as he grimaced. He zeroed in on silver hairs to chase away distracting thoughts.

"There's still hope. You underestimate how resilient Qunari are."

"Oh, _come now_ , Hissrad," Pavus sauntered slowly towards him, stopping to smooth an uncalloused hand over the serpentstone table. "We're much too old for this. The cracks in that mask of yours must be hard to keep patching up. And by the looks of it" - he leaned forward tauntingly, voice just barely above a whisper - "a _ren't you_ _just a little bit tired?"_

 _Wound's still deep_ , Hissrad thought. "You're clearly still hurt," he accused.

"Hurt? Hurt doesn't even _begin_ to describe what you did to me," Pavus asserted, shaking his head. "But I'm not sorry that you did it. Watching you toss your mask made me realize how often I was holding up my own. I made my self shine brilliantly as a distraction, all light and no heat." His eyes grew distant, pensive. "You taught me to be vulnerable. I made myself seem arrogant and flashy to blind people to what I really was. It wasn't until I returned to Minrathous that I realized that when Cole called me out on it, he was right. So...I let go.

"I hurt. And yes, you hurt me. But if you hadn't, I'd never be okay with saying it out loud. I wouldn't have changed, and I became strong enough to lead my country to a better place." He unfolded his arms, spreading his hands out wide. " _Thousands_ of people have you to thank for that."

 _"_ Still...sorry." Hissrad lowered his head to imply remorse. "I could've handled things differently - us differently - and I'm sorry." He looked deep into the Archon's eyes to gauge his progress. "I'm truly sorry that I hurt you."

Pavus frowned suddenly and snapped his eyes shut. When he looked back up, Hissrad could see the wheels turning behind his eyes. His breath began to shorten as he realized that something about their dance had changed: suddenly the music was different, and he no longer knew the next step.

"You're not sorry," Pavus said accusingly, taking a step closer.

Hissrad shook his head. "No, I actually am. It is the truth."

"That's not what I meant." Pavus gently tapped his mouth with a slender finger. "You haven't once said my name because you can't even bring yourself to utter it. You're not sorry that you betrayedme, you're sorry that you _fell in love_ with me in the first place."

A lump began to form in the back of his throat. "No," Hissrad said firmly. "Don't do this to yourself. It was not real."

"It was, and you know it was," the man asserted. "Tell me to my face, _hissrad_. Did you love me?"

The word sped out of him, a bolt from a crossbow. "No."

The Archon's eyes narrowed.

"Be honest with me for once, _hissrad_. Ignore everybody else; we're alone now."

Hissrad set his jaw, the perfect picture of denial.

"I'll wait."

"No."

"I don't believe you. Does being a _hissrad_ include telling falsehoods to yourself? I will ask you again. Did you love me?"

"No."

"Really? Because after we defeated Corypheus, you said that you stopped feeling like you were alone in the world. Did you love me?"

"No."

"Tell me the _fucking_ truth-"

"I'm not going to sa-"

" _DID_ \- _YOU_ \- _LOVE_ \- _ME_?" Pavus exploded, rushing at him with all the rage of a lion. His nostrils flared, and spittle gathered at corners of his mouth. Hissrad could see the silver flecks in his widened eyes as Pavus got into his face, seeming taller than before.

" _Tell me_ that you didn't love me, _hissrad,"_ the Archon snarled. "Tell me that the look of ecstasy on your face when _I made you come_ was just another mask."

"Qunari don't mix sex and love," Hissrad shot back. "You knew that."

"But _you_ did. The first time that I said 'I love you,' you actually shouted it from the fucking parapets. _Tell me_ that you didn't love me."

"Don't do this to yourself." Hissrad became acutely aware of his throat beginning to tighten. Dorian edged closer, teeth bared.

"Tell me that my holding you through the nightmares didn't matter. Tell me that carrying extra handkerchiefs and elfroot tea in your satchel while we traveled was just to keep up appearances. Tell me that all the late-night talks about wine and literature and mathematics were just intelligence-gathering on the Magisterium. Tell me that holding my hand in the tavern was just for show. _Tell me_ ," Pavus growled, "that none of it made you feel. _Tell me that_ you _didn't love me._ "

 _Don't._

"TELL ME THAT YOU DIDN'T LOVE ME."

 _Don't._

" _SAY IT!_ "

With a dread realization, Hissrad recognized the lump in the back of his throat for what it was.

And as his mouth ran dry, the Iron Bull realized that this was the only lie that he couldn't tell.

"Ah," Dorian said softly. "And there it is."

With a smile, he took a step back. Bull scrambled for a retort, but it was too late - Dorian saw what he needed, and the dance was over. His hands fell to the side, retreating into his robes. "Thank you," Dorian said, "for showing me how dangerous the Qun truly is. It doesn't just force converts to discard their personhood, what makes them real. It _encourages_ it."

The Qunari's mind raced. He sought anything, _any_ feeling other than doubt; the next emotion he found was rage, and he clung to it for dear life. He barely heard Dorian's voice above the blood rushing in his ears; the twitch in the man's left arm, however, sent a signal loud and clear.

"So you came here as an intellectual exercise," Bull growled through gritted teeth, biting back the feeling that his heart would burst. His breaths came shallow now, try as he might to slow them down. "You good now? Gonna slay me where I stand?"

Dorian chuckled darkly.

"Slay you? Like a beast of sacrifice? No, _amatus._ I did not come here to slay you. Not quite."

He saw a flash of silver as Dorian fade-stepped up to him, and felt a thin blade slip into his lower-right abdomen. Something like liquid fire began to course through his veins, unlike any poison he'd ever known. His fingers went cold and his mind went blank, terrifyingly blank, as the poison took hold.

Dorian's face confessed a calmness grounded in certainty; his eyes, glittering like diamonds as he looked up at him, spoke of a promise yet fulfilled. Dread trickled in as Dorian pressed himself to him. _Don't_ , Bull thought as Dorian snaked an arm around his shoulders. Dorian's body was warm, inviting almost, and sweat began to form on Bull's still-outstretched palms. His lips tickled with memories that he could no longer forget.

Dorian craned his head slightly to rest his cheek just below the Iron Bull's ear, as if to confide in him. The small bursts of breath against his skin made his eye flutter closed. He tried to dissociate himself from his former life, desperately scrambling to return to the role of _Ariqun -_ even _hissrad -_ but it was too late. It was too late.

It was too late.

 _Asit tal-eb_.

"The Imperium stole a great many things from Arlathan, with the help of the Old Gods," Dorian said quietly. "Curses are one of them. And so, as the elves say, _may you learn."_

"May the will to exist run you ragged but never die, even when your bones beg for the ground. May every weapon you touch turn to dust in your hands, and may you choke on every lie. May that ember of doubt leave you restless as you walk the earth." Bull felt all his strength drain away as Dorian cursed him, intoning as if the curse were a prayer.

"May you be a living lesson that individuality and choice are sacred rights, and may you never find peace until every single sentient being has learned it. May you be chained to living until all the living are free."

With a disgusted noise, Dorian stepped back. A blinding pain filled the void that the blade left behind, and Hissrad grunted as it radiated upwards. He looked up to see that all the anger had left his former lover, replaced by a calm, dangerous confidence. Icicles sprouted like claws around Dorian's fingers as chills ran down Bull's spine.

"Time has moved differently outside of this room," Dorian said idly, bright blue fissures crackling across his face. "By the time you leave it, you will be the last of your kind. Every other Qunari outside of this room is dead; every Qunari inside of this room will _be_ dead. You will watch, and you will be made powerless to stop it."

The Iron Bull shivered as he forced the words out of his mouth. "Then I'll honor their sacrifice, and carry on. As long as even one person carries the wisdom of the Qun, the rest of Thedas can be brought towards understanding."

" _Hissrad_ , darling," Dorian sighed, "Do you _truly_ believe that?"

With a languid flick of his wrist, Dorian unfroze the others; Bull watched helplessly as they came to life, gasping and disoriented. _"Do you_ truly _believe that?"_ settled deep into Bull's skin, coating it like _vitaar_.

And as the screams of his people began to fill the air, the Iron Bull found that he could not answer.


End file.
